We only had forty-five minutes Before we were to start our show Our roadies had set up our gear And we were (more than) ready to go Then the owner of the bar came to see us And he told us that we would't get paid The thrashers in the bar had to wonder why the show was delayed Violence condoned Cough up the dough We packed our guitars, we got in our cars We drove off and we never looked back Six fucking albums, still dealing with welchers I think I'm about to attack I love all our fans but I'm sick of this, man If you book us then we'd better get paid The thrashers in the bar all showed him a mistake had been made Fans irate, the time was late, they knew the band was gone Tempers smoked, a riot broke, the violent clash was on Chairs were thrown, damage sown, they paid to see the band Bottles flying, underlying vengeance for the fans Take a stand and never change your plans Demand respect or be a useless fool Never let the big shots get away With thinking that they're making all the rules If they think that you're a weakling You'd better fight and show them it ain't true Teach them all a violent lesson And show them just what you can do Revenge, revenge, support it each and every day Revenge, revenge, violence blows the weasels away

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